Talent Show Buzz Kill

Grade 10. A talent show was announced.

The day of the auditions I decided I would perform Mariah Carey’s ‘Hero’. Energy was high and enthusiastic cheers and claps accompanied each performance.

And then I arrived, like the Angel of Death ready to plunge hearts and ears into despair.

Like a boy going through puberty, I croaked through each chorus and SHRIEKED in a fashion I assumed was very reminiscent of Celine Dion on speed.

My hands gestured wildly like a schizophrenic pigeon trying to tell a story. Nothing made any sense.

The next rehearsal, I decided a more appropriate song would be REM’s ‘Everyone hurts.’ No one quite knew what to say and I took that to mean they were clearly awestruck. It was inconceivable that I was anything but magnificent. Later that night I decided that what the audience needed was me WITHOUT the distraction of background music.

The great night arrived. The week before I decided to do an A capella version of Vanessa William’s ‘ Save the Best for Last.’ And so it was my turn. Suddenly common sense arrived, I realized my choice of song would probably be more appropriate for a room full of deaf and non judgmental dementia patients.

But the show had to go on.I walked on stage and froze and stood by the curtains. The audience was clearly confused. Where was this wheezing and cackling coming from? My voice was trapped and I managed to choke out a few lack lustre lines before fleeing the stage.

Grade 11. Another talent show was announced.A chance to redeem myself and be relevant.What was needed here was a power ballad and who better than PHIL COLLINS to provide that. This would be my chance to shine. To shake of the dust of my previous failures. To emerge like a warrior. I would be the voice for the damned  downtrodden. I was RAMBO.

note: i’ll like to make it clear that i was not wearing a loin cloth

I stood before my enraptured audience. Like a roaring tempest, there was no stopping me. Warbling punctuated by yelps and screeches. It was memorable to say the least.

Talent show was canceled the next year.

The end.

The case of the peeping tom brother

There was nothing remarkable about how that evening started out. In fact it had been a slow week news wise. Everything was more ho hum than usual.

My mom and I were sitting in the living room, both searching for a topic worth heavily debating about and suddenly the intercom started beeping. This could only mean that we had a visitor. How exciting! Who could it be? Maybe an admirer who couldn’t handle the silence?!

But I hadn’t even had a chance to blow dry my hair. How dare he just arrive unannounced?!

We had never even met, and here we were already having our first fight!

This courtship was clearly falling flat on its face.

note: i still would have been secretly flattered

Turns out it was the security guard downstairs who was asking us to come down as our neighbour from the adjoining building had a ‘bone to pick’ with us. Okay, fine, those weren’t the exact words but clearly my paraphrasing of what he probably meant is more interesting.

What could it be? Nothing scandalous, I hoped. *Cough*

Upon going downstairs we received the most ‘distressing’ news from neighbour man.

note: based on author’s recollection of events. some slight alternation to neighbour man’s appearance might have been utilised

My word!

In case you didn’t know, peeping tom refers to one who spies on other people for purposes that are far too ‘risque’ to mention in polite company but I’m sure you get my drift.

My mother was appalled at this accusation, and defended my brother from an allegation that was yet to be revealed to us. It was like being on an episode of ‘Law and Order’ but in far less impressive surroundings/clothing.

I on the other hand was thinking scenes more like this.

note: not sure why we are wearing dark robes and top hats, but it seems like the kind of thing you’d wear in such trying times

To be frank, even though I didn’t believe my brother was actually doing any form of peeping tom-like behaviour , my first inclination still was indignation!

How dare he keep this ‘dark’ secret to himself?! He knew how desperately I longed for a family secret, anything to break the writer’s block I was having. And here he was sitting on prime information……The nerve! I mean even if there was a slight probability he had these ‘tendencies’, I had every right to know.

After some probing, the neighbour finally came clean.According to this man, every morning my brother would walk into his balcony which directly faced this neighbour’s apartment. Hmm, a pretty astute observation from the neighbour man. I started to doubt who was spying on who.

My brother would then proceed to light a cigarette. Following this, he would openly leer at neighbour’s wife who I guess also started each morning by standing outside on her balcony as well.

Neighbour man then went on to say that my brother would then open his silk robe (?????) and ‘expose’ himself as he openly laughed and upon the ‘horrified’ reaction of neighbour’s wife, would also take a picture of her.

WHAT?! Furthermore this had been going on for several weeks?!

My first thought was, well clearly if this has been going on for several weeks, it must be a mutually beneficial arrangement!! This was followed by complete disbelief. My brother was far too boring for such an illicit hobby.

My mother was naturally outraged, and like most mothers couldn’t believe her son would be capable of such activity. I, on the other hand, was rather impressed by his multi-tasking. To be frank, all along I knew there had to be some form of mistake, but then again, as I said, it had been a slow week and the neighbour was really persuasive in his speech!

Between my mother’s angry rebuttals and counter accusations and his swearing on every relative that ever walked the planet that my brother was the local neighbourhood peeping tom, well it was hard not to get swept up by the emotions!

At this point, I called my brother up.

Kinsi ( voice hoarse with drama) : At what point were you going to confess your peeping tom ways?! And where are you hiding this silk robe?!

Brother: What? *laughter* Why is your voice so weird? And what? *more laughter* I’ll be right over to meet the ‘supposed’ victim of my peeping tom ways.

My brother arrived and it was all we could do to restrain the outraged husband.

note:  well, something along those lines 

Upon arrival of my brother, neighbour man looked rather taken aback  (in my brother’s defense, he was going through an awkward period). I could quickly see that he realised my brother wasn’t the man.

He called his wife for final confirmation and she met us outside in her robe ( SERIOUSLY, what is up with all these robes?!)

She saw my brother and instantly said, no, that’s not him. TURNS out, it was the neighbour right below our apartment. My brother was acquitted of ALL allegations. Before I even had a change to write a novel chronicling our struggle as a family to prove his innocence.

My mom of course used this opportunity to deliver a most heart wrenching speech charged with indignation at this ‘baseless’ accusation and how this would have to be a lesson to ‘all’. They then , red faced with their wrongful accusation proceeded to apologise.

A bit too thickly for my likes to be honest.

It would have all been very moving if not for the neighbour lady’s robe that was flapping against my knee.

Anyway to cut a long story short. Everyone now was best friends. My brother was not a peeping tom, and I had lost YET another idea for my imminent best seller.

Rats.

How to snag the love of your life

Forget everything you heard, here at the “Kinsi Institute for Very Successful Love”, we have revolutionised a FOOL-PROOF method to getting the LOVE YOU DESERVE.

We call it the ‘break them down and scoop them up’ system.

Our effective method will ensure you not only SNAG the love of your life, but that you also keep him or her FOREVER under your  reign of terror blanket of very unsuffocating love.

It’s a well known fact that most people hardly know what they will even have for breakfast, let alone how to conduct their love lives. Especially when it comes to choosing the right person. That is why it is better you do it for them. In fact you are ALREADY in a relationship with him or her…they just don’t know about it…yet.

HAHA! What a fool. Such a laissez faire attitude will surely have you sobbing to Oprah Winfrey reruns every night. Ladies and Gents, competition is FIERCE. Life is NOT a zen textbook, you need to get RIGHT in there. The more time you spend as a Hallmark card spewing out all sorts of nonsense that has you believing ‘true love will return if it was real’, the higher the chance you will LOSE the love of your life to a more serious contender!!!!

He or she wants space, LAUGH and deny this. They don’t know ANY BETTER, but YOU DO. You must be THISCLOSEATALLTIMES. Anything less will NOT DO.

That is why it is imperative you STALK them, but in a friendly manner OBVIOUSLY. No one likes a creepy person!! In order to facilitate this, we have created the ‘Friendly Stalking Love Device’ that will help you pinpoint exactly WHERE your loved one will be at any give second. Your lover might protest at first, but believe me, your RESISTANCE to their DENIAL OF YOUR OBVIOUS LOVE will wear them down!!!

HAHA! No he can’t! LOL LOL LOL!!!! He can’t because he doesn’t know you are TRACKING his every move with your amazing friendly stalking love device. So simple, all you need is to attach a tiny sticker on the back of their neck. This sticker contains a transmitter that will instantly update you on your phone or lap top. As for the other woman raining on YOUR PARADE, really just a detail.

LOL!! The fools! Little do they know that your amazing stalking device will lead you to straight to them, and let you claim your man!

Success at last!

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In this world of GREAT haste, who has the TIME to invest in exercise and diet!? The thought of such hardship is enough to knock the Chocolate Molten cake RIGHT off my serving plate. This life is rough enough without the added ‘bonus’ of grass infused rations meals and Spanish inquisition inspired death exercise programs.

Less than dignified the last time you met your ex?

Nothing like a little cake stealing to really put the damper on any birthday party! But not to fret, that is why at Kinsi’s CRAZY AMAZING weight loss studio, we have devised FOOL PROOF methods to get the results you need in an INSANELY fast fashion! And if that wasn’t amazing enough, we have also provided a BONUS addition of Memory Wiping Powder from the Siberian Rainforest. This magical powder will be sure to wipe your ex’s mind CLEAN of any unsanitary memories. What a B-A-R-G-A-I-N!!

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Ladies and gents, Introducing the “Slenderising matchstick Kit 4000”. EVERYTHING you could possibly need for a new you is included!

So EASY to assemble!! Just clear your schedule for an evening and let the magic happen!!

note: make sure to do this in a secluded area as others might get jealous of your amazing weight loss technique and report you to the police.

As you can tell, the Hog stick Attendant is in totally amazing shape and will TOTALLY inspire you as he rotates the hog stick rod. He’s also a great singer and totally will sing ANY Michael Bolton song you request. What could be better?! For ULTIMATE MAXIMUM fat loss, he will rotate rod every 5 minutes. As he rotates, he will also tell you amazing stories about amazing things TOO amazing to mention until you buy this product!

Unlike most conventional ‘exercises’ that exist today, the “Slenderising Matchstick Kit 4000” does SPOT REDUCE. A little too much jiggle round the belly? Well, it’s nothing our hog stick attendant can’t fix by intensifying heat of firewood! Best of all, for all you pasty folk, our amazing invention also TANS you as you roast slim down.

AND FINALLY, for the bonus addition: Memory Wiping Powder. Just a few easy steps…

 note: large flapping ears seem to be a side effect of this weight loss technique. however luckily for you, huge ears are TOTALLY fashionable in some parts of the world.

It is imperative you make your exit as soon as you blow the smoke as this will help your ex disassociate the cake theft from your good self.

note: make sure to hold your ears as you flee, otherwise you might just get blown away by the wind.

Your ex won’t know WHAT hit them the next time they see your SKINNY non-cake stealing self!!

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Human Laboratory of Unparalleled Misery

The Unfortunate Job Chronicles: Part 2

Back in the day, when I had a job that drained all colour out of my existence, my terrible habit of zoning out was at its peak.  We all have our quirks and unfortunately this career killing one was one of my forerunners at the time.

It didn’t help that I worked in an office that would have me spend inordinate amounts in one of the obviously CLINICAL bathroom stalls, just WEEPING in despair! God, not even the bathrooms had the DECENCY to have some personality!?

Everything was SO white, even the flooring had the nerve to look sterile!!

I wasn’t even quite sure what my job was. I just sort of ‘chilled’ and walked around with masses of paper very few hours or so, hence giving illusion of ‘working’. Everyone was constantly running back and forth. Where were they going?! I Knew where I was.

note: sometimes hot man was brunette, sometimes a nice curly perm, sometimes he had no hair but he was ALWAYS crazy about me!

Whenever anyone of any importance would walk near my desk, I’d start shuffling papers, and grimace as to give the illusion I was frustrated with the market, even though I didn’t even know what the market was doing at that point.

note: illustration ‘inspired’ by true events

Clearly nothing. Hence I would try and ‘distract’ my manager from this unanswerable question by going on a crazed tangent about things going on in the world (or so I hoped). Not the most effective of tactics, but in times of desperation, one clings to any useless boat (even the ones with many holes).

I just desperately spewed out any headline I remembered  from the hour I spent reading about what the Kardashians were eating for breakfast that morning.

‘Educated’ conversations of this kind would obviously would put a brutal end to any further interaction for the rest of the day, and I’d be free to surf daily mail and read about which reality star was eating frozen yogurt that day.

And so it was, my working days continued in this ho-hum like momentum and I trudged on each morning like a hopeless shadow.

Until one day everything changed.

I came in that particular morning and the office was rather, dare I say, lively. Apparently some important clients or guests or whatever they were, were coming in and we were all to attend this meeting.

Rolling my eyes in despair, I braced myself for hours of mind numbing ‘discussions’ in which we did nothing but discuss what we discussed yesterday and the day before and our forefathers, the century before.

In we went to this very important meeting, and I sat down and started to zone out whilst taking in the ‘key words’. I really didn’t know what the meeting was about but figured I’d find out eventually. From a very distance place in my brain, I heard the words ‘British Hat foundation’, and suddenly I came back to earth.I was CONVINCED this was what the meeting was about and thought nothing of confirming this.

Oh my good word, what a FANTASTIC idea I thought to myself. What could be more noble than giving out hats to the poor and homeless?! What a great institution, and suddenly I was very HAPPY to be in a meeting room with these very innovative and noble pioneers of charitable works! I could totally see myself being part of this amazing cause.

And wasn’t it true that 60 percent of heat escaped through the head?! Think of how many homeless people we could save working with the British Hat Foundation?!

I was quickly ejected from my day dream as I heard my shrill manager’s voice ask me what my opinions were on the meeting and what was being discussed.

I, of course, being far too reliable on ‘key words’ that hadn’t always served me well, was delighted to be asked for my opinion.

Me: Saving homeless people with hats sounds like SUCH an amazing idea. I mean every year homeless people are perishing due to the cold, imagine how much of a difference a HAT could make! Different designs could be made as well! Just because you don’t have a roof over your head doesn’t mean you can’t be stylish….* jovial laughter*

Alas, I was laughing alone and realised everyone looking at me with the most BIZARRE expression.

Either my thoughts blew them out of the water, or…I dreaded to think the alternative

Manager: We were talking about the British HEART foundation. NOT, the British HAT foundation, which to my knowledge does not exist anywhere outside your imagination.

Oh the humiliation.

Needless to say, I didn’t last very long in the job. Some people really have no appreciation for creativity.

 

The Making of : A Tale of Very Truthful Woe…Part 1

Day 1 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life

Technically I should be working right now, but there really is nothing to do at this office. I’ve already ordered breakfast and drank lukewarm coffee even though I don’t even like coffee. It doesn’t really matter where I work or what the office looks like so I won’t get into heavy long descriptions and say things like ‘ the mahogany tables gleamed as I ran my hands over superior wood surface and whilst all this admiration was taking place, I also had time to notice the fine workmanship that had resulted in a most delicate yet sturdy classical Gothic inspired design. Whoever created this masterpiece which really is just a bloody brown desk must have been a genius and hence I will dedicate at least 7 paragraphs as testament to his carpentry prowess.’

I will then weep as it’s only 1 pm. The day stretches ahead like a barren desert.

Alas, sitting creepily alone in a darkened office is hardly subtle.

note: hell’s gate-keeper might be a strong choice of words

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Day 2 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life

This book would be so much easier to write if it would stop critiquing me as I attempt to write. Every word is open to a long winded analysis. By the time I’m on the 7th word, death starts to seem appealing. Well theoretically at least. My word, it’s just mind numbing when the audience in my head is heckling me as I attempt to write anything.

I don’t really know what direction I should take with this book but I can already see it on the bestseller’s list. Maybe I should start writing three books at the same time, and hope for the best. On a completely different side note, this desk really is quite shiny and incredibly smooth. I wonder what polish the cleaners use to achieve such sheen? I’ll be sure to inquire about that.

Day 3 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life

I think I finally realize what my problem is. I need to cultivate a stronger persona. I need to actively work on finding a personal struggle and overcome it. People seem really like books about beating the odds. The inspiration that has been lost because my parents never beat me and hid the evidence in the cellar(alongside my nearly dead body that is miraculously revived so that I can write my tale.) Also, where is an addiction when you need one? I wonder what kind of protocol is needed to submit myself to a rehab clinic?

note: dimensions may not have been accurately represented by artist

No one I know has succumbed to anything tragic that has greatly affected me. It’s really quite selfish when I think about it. How am I supposed to derive inspiration from this vanilla group of people I surround myself with?! How on earth did my parents ever expect me to make something of myself in these dire circumstances of bleak normalcy. Why wasn’t I born in a potato farm that had NO potatoes, with a stern ogre for a father that ripped me straight out of my mother’s womb and threw me to the fields so that I could start cultivating the lands at once!

The unfairness of my ordinary background is enough to make me want to take a machete to the wood table. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea? Does that violent thought signify the beginnings of a nervous breakdown?? Okay, will not get hopes up or disturb imminent breakdown to be. Will sit on chair and wait . Inspiration will be mine at morn! I await tear socked bed sheets and angst ridden night shakes of EPIC proportions!

Day 4 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life

Failure thy name is me. I know that sentence makes no real sentence but last night, instead of turning into a frenzy of despair was shattered by the arrival of jovial guests. How am I supposed to write my tale of woe under these conditions!?

eX- Treme Style : ” Make It Yourself” Kit

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Is EXTREME sport your DRUG OF CHOICE?!

Do you like feeling  CRAZY amazing ADRENALINE coursing through your VEINS?

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 Make it YOURSELF: Haute Couture Kit ( eX-TREME style)

Fellow fashionistas and fashionistos, it doesn’t get any easier than this!

note 1: our studies have shown that some animals prefer to be clothes.

note 2: prepping time is approx 5 years so be sure to clear schedule

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Discretion is key.

Ducks are easily startled so make sure to plant yourself in a well the night before. Ignore the villagers that protest that you are tainting their fresh water supply with the gasoline your “Turbo Animal Capturing Device” is emitting. Fashion takes sacrifice, and if they must be sacrificed, so be it.

Crazy AMAZING camouflage, the duck will NEVER see it coming.

note 1: time of arrival for duck not guaranteed. carry suitcase and portable bathroom in case.

note 2: Animal capturing device is battery operated, so be sure to carry at least 15 extras.

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Everyone knows Haute Couture models are skinny ( and NOBODY notices the ones that aren’t!)

So what do you do?! Diet?? EXERCISE in the DEVIL’S playground(gym)………..?!?!?!

OF COURSE NOT!

Who has time for CRAZY activities like that when you have the AMAZING “Friendly” MACHETE that will just SLICE the fat RIGHT OFF YOU!!

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note: we suggest you mop the floor after usage.

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We are T-O-T-A-L-L-Y concerned about the planet, so what BETTER way to showcase this DEVOTION to Mother Earth than to shred leaves from trees and WEAR THEM?!

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*********************************************************************************************************Haute Couture : eX-Treme Style Summer 2018

note: one duck is not enough. take a pair so that they can keep each other company on your outfit.

 

 

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note: hot woman on left not included. however mustached man is available for ‘special’ requests.

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Do you want a car that fits in with your busy life?!

Are you too poor to afford sight seeing?!

Well, call us PSYCHICS, because we have READ your mind….

note 1: spectacular view from top car cubicle very much dependent on your city surroundings. we cannot be held responsible for your sh*tty city views.

note 2: beware of heavy winds.

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Human laboratory of unparalleled misery

The unfortunate job chronicles: Part 1 *

Every morning would start the same way. I’d wake up disappointed I wasn’t dead yet. I don’t mean this in a suicidal way, but such was the magnitude of horrendous angst I felt about my job. I didn’t want to DIE die, but more so just quietly vanish.

Me drowning in despair…

Cloaked in darkness and wrapped in sorrow, I would force myself out of bed. With the shadow of despair looming over my head, I’d head over to the bathroom to bathe in my own tears.

Like a grieving widow, I’d walk down the street towards the bus that would eventually take me to my execution job.

IF ONLY…if only that were an option…

Upon entering the bus, the other nameless faces would gaze blankly at me. There was no need for polite talk, we all knew where we were headed. Well, at least I did. I am certain all the laughter that echoed around me was meant ironically. I would think of happier days.However, I would be quick to dismiss these thoughts, why tease myself with happiness I’ll never know again. Might as well get used to my life sentence.

Inevitably, no earthquake would occur, and a musky wave of disappointment would engulf my already empty and hopeless heart. The bus would never fall down a darkened crevice into the soft bosom of death. The bitterness had me grasping the remaining seven hairs on my head in sheer frustration.

It would have been so beautiful…

Alas, I would eventually find myself dropped off at my stop. As I walked those final steps towards damnation work, I would skip over the streets littered with dead bodies. Okay, fine, there were no dead bodies, but there might as well have been.

Gazing at my ominous work building that was wired with steel (and bone, if you look close enough), I would just SIGH. Sigh and SIGH, for what else can one do when one is busy regretting the day their mother gave birth to them.

Like a crazed prisoner being led to an electric chair, futile thoughts would rush through my brain.

‘Where is gang violence when you need it?!’

‘ Am I not good enough to be kidnapped?! How dare kidnappers discriminate? No wonder world rife with self esteem problems when you have criminals selecting victims as opposed to random selection!’

SIGH

😦

At long last, I would succumb to my ill fated destiny and walk up the silent steps (that were etched with the desperate scratchings of those that came before us). The sight of my fellow inmates colleagues made me want to rip out my last remaining tooth( had I of course only one tooth).

Like many mornings before, and many more that were yet to come, I would silently pray that today would (finally) be the day that the mythical force majeure clause would finally come to fruition.

* Slight exaggeration may have been utilised.

Sometimes I feel a little sh*tty

Sometimes I feel a little sh*tty. A little sh*tty isn’t fun because it isn’t full-blown sh*tty. If this were full-blown sh*tty, I wouldn’t use an asterisk. I wouldn’t care about being polite for reasons no one can ascertain. I mean what does the asterisk really accomplish? We all know what the intended word is. Also a little sh*tty isn’t that exciting to hear about because it’s not trendy nor does it leave much room for deep provoking analysis (if that’s your thing). It’s not even worth gossiping about. It is what it is: listless, vague and searching for a higher cause to attach itself to. When was the last time you heard something like: “Friend, you need to watch this movie, it doesn’t even know what it’s about. The plot is like this non-plot of people doing things and saying things but double-guessing themselves and wondering what’s going on…”

But yet a little sh*tty happens because we are people. People who are too confused and tired to be in a constant state of evolution — it’s hard enough existing sometimes let alone encumbering our weary minds with further growth. People who would rather just figure out that sweet spot between overly-buttered and well-buttered microwave popcorn yet end up with a bag of toasty kernel corpses time and time again. Once we get that right maybe then we can learn how to be zippy well-oiled machines executing each #goal with flair. Can life really be a consistent series of transformational moments? If so, please tell me your secrets.

What about the gray days? Where nothing feels or is quite right? Days when your sense of motivation is more RIP than anything else. Days when your feet are leaden roots that hold you hostage to a ceaseless reel of self-defeatist thoughts. I want to hear about them. How people I admire and respect are capable of doubt and mad things like getting insanely agitated with a washing machine and then proceeding to take out frustrations by whacking half-damp laundry against the bathtub while cursing the washing machine’s ancestors. You know it makes no sense but it feels good until it doesn’t. The sun will usually set at this point and in your current state, it will be feel like a death shroud over your dreams, ambitions and everything around it.

You’ll then call your sister and the congealed despair will start to dissipate. She just finished eating crackers in the dark. You’ll laugh. What a bleak picture. She doesn’t even like crackers and there she was pecking away in the dark. Ha ha ha! You were eating a can of tuna yourself but at least you had the foresight to eat by the lamp. She tells you a stronger dose of Prozac might be a worthy investment one of these days. It’s now very dark and even though your life felt like a full stop just ten minutes ago, you feel slightly better.

I think I – like many – can get lost in a picture of how passion should appear, about what momentum should look like, how we should be, what station of life we should be at, how others are suffering and it should ‘provide a perspective’ (believe me it does at times but that perspective doesn’t change the fact I still feel kind of pathetically sh*tty about my own sh*t when I feel sh*tty) and so forth. A discord between where I should be and where I am can make me wonder: what’s wrong with me that I’m not where I should be? It can get rather incoherent and isolating. As though everyone is dancing in a train to the sound of clear-cut purpose/selfless motivation, while you stand there alone at the station (forgotten and bloated with selfish desires) with your sad goat because it’s diseased (and that’s the only reason it didn’t get on board). It’s a dramatic picture but sometimes I feel that way. Kind of aimless, redundant and colourless. I can’t even take the goat as a pet because it’s sick and needs to be put down.

Times when I feel this way, I think of all the other people who also feel a little sh*t and aren’t looking for a pep talk or God forbid to be ‘awakened’ but more so just want a commiserating nod. A friendly nod that says it’s okay if your milestones don’t have a musical soundtrack or a riveting va-voom philosophy entrenched within. It’s not necessary to be firing on all cylinders. I mean who even coined that phrase and is it too late to assassinate the culprit? Also, that it’s rather endearing when you call your milestones, sporadic little ‘millimeter-pebbles’.

Of course I long to have the kind of conviction that’s relentless in its pursuit but sometimes that’s hard because I get too busy with my non-worries which are worries even if they sound ridiculous. But is it really so bad to also be occasionally henpecked by the mundane? Aren’t we all to a degree?  Must everything about life be so gloriously meaningful? Or rather is it possible to have a gloriously meaningful life while still getting bogged down by sh*tty little worries, insecurities and saying all the wrong things to the wrong people and OMG what must they think now?!

Can’t we be great (or potentially where we hope to be) yet prone to downfalls all at the same time?

Sometimes you can be tumbling your way down something you really want but don’t know how to keep that momentum going and that’s hard to put that into words. Sometimes you use anecdotes of ‘friends’ as a way to get answers. Sometimes you know what you are doing but then you suddenly don’t and your inability to make sense of your new-found ignorance isn’t a fun place to be. Sometimes you feel like you pay far too much attention to the things that seem to inspire others but you can’t understand why a dead man’s words don’t conjure the same kind of fire in your heart (even though it just did three weeks ago). Sometimes you have a thought and it becomes twenty different thoughts and you forgot what you meant to say to begin with. And sometimes you walk into a grocery shop and you see a potato and it’s all sad, lumpy and goal-less and you feel bad for it and think: look at you all sad, lumpy and goal-less and you realize you are talking about yourself.

And so you go home with your sh*tty-esque mood swinging lethargically over your head. You reach for a book you were reading and it’s nowhere to be found. Clearly life is barren of options and so you sit there in your funk. The phone rings but even that is far away and it dies mid ring because you’re not even capable of charging your phone like a normal person. Your throat constricts and it’s all stupid because there is no reason and maybe you should get a glass of water and once you drink it, you will suddenly have all the motivation/passion in the world to just keep doing what you thought you were doing before you forgot or cared about what it was. And as you walk blinded by mini-grievances, you slip on a plastic Carrefour grocery bag. BAM you go. You lie there like a comatose seal. You vow to make the transition to paper bags even though they are really annoying and crinkly. You’ll get used to it. You think it’s sad that a near death experience with a plastic bag is the only reason you’re embracing an environmentally conscious step. Whatever. Actions are actions, no? Twenty seconds later you flip your face and wonder how the scene would look if it were being watched by spectators? A slight paranoia niggles and just as you haul yourself up, you find a bracelet you thought you lost several weeks ago. It feels like an achievement even though it really isn’t but why not? Why rob yourself of a tiny good thing that came out of a plastic bag and chronic incoordination?

We focus a lot on the ‘big’ things but what about the little things that may propel the big things along? Things like wearing a faded muumuu and questioning the very audacity that you, YOU, of all people deserve what you think you deserve but right now feel too small for. The fears, the unknowns and the doubts. Sometimes it’s easy to linger in that sense of self-defeatism but then one day as you are sad-person web googling, you come across a random image of a skinny pigeon standing in the midst of beautiful peacocks and you think to yourself: look at it, it’s so wretched and God, I mean just look at the tragic mess but then you look closer and see the pigeon is entirely nonchalant. It literally does not care that it’s surrounded by nature’s equivalent of supermodels. It’s a pigeon, it’s owning its space and planting its twig-like appendages on the earth because why the hell not?

Suddenly it hits you. It doesn’t matter who you say you are, it matters who you think you are.

The pigeon becomes a pixelated personification representing the kind of outlook you want. And that day, you vow that every single time you feel kind of sh*tty and fraud-like within your own existence, you will think of the pigeon.  You will ask yourself, what would the pigeon do? The answer will be clear. 

The “KEEP IT REAL 2000” Program

Trying to break into the music industry?

Your lack of a miserable life keeping you down?

WELL, call us DREAM MAKERS, we TOTES read your mind. Introducing the “KEEP IT REAL 2000” program!! A week long program that will TOTES make you LEGIT STUFF!

This guy IS NOT “KEEPIT REAL 2000”material. He is a BEFORE. But one week with us and look what happens

RUN FOR COVER, THIS GUY IS CRAZY!!

SO, how did we do this?

STEP 1: We invent a life of STRIFE for you. A story SO POWERFUL, everyone will be blown away ( LITERALLY) because we will arrange for a CRAZY STRONG fan that will appear every time you speak!!!! ALSO as a CRAZY AMAZING bonus, we will provide you with BACKGROUND music of POLICE SIRENS!!!!!

Step 2: We will arrange for a drive by, AK 47s  BB guns shooting at you.Our guys will zoom by you in their DANGEROUS Escalade Car rickshaws and you will TOTES be confirmed as LEGIT.

Step 3: As part of our company CSR( Corporate Social Responsibility), we will round up ALL THE HOMELESS people we can find, dress them in LEGIT clothing and you will TOTES have an ENTOURAGE.

SOLD? Hundreds of people are TOTES getting LEGIT. What are YOU waiting for?????

Our hustlers badly paid stuff are WAITING BY? Call N-O-W cause we are SO DANGEROUS seriously falling behind payments and getting evicted, we can’t stay ANYWHERE for long!!!

*BRAP BRAP BRAP*

An obsession gone awry

Generally I consider myself a somewhat reasonable person (in some cultures I’m sure), but ever so often I get torrid bursts of obsession that are devoid of any explanation. Once the obsession is attained, I then go to great lengths to maintain the illusion that the obsession was worth it. Several years ago, when I first moved to London, I rented an apartment that was possibly the inspiration behind Heathcliff’s character in Wuthering Heights.

Dark and mysterious (for no reason I’m sure but that it wasn’t really maintained by the previous tenants), it fascinated me. I was aware that perhaps the abode was not the most aesthetically pleasing, but I was convinced I was ‘meant’ to be there. Without giving it a second thought, I decided to take the apartment.

Like a broken down lover, I justified everything about it. Unidentifiable burns marked many parts of the carpet ( what passion, I reasoned). Strange scratchings could be found behind the ominous looking cupboards ( such mystery, I thought to myself). Moth eaten handkerchiefs made their presence known ( diversity….).

The floor would creak below my feet….

Now to be frank, none of this actually bothered, in fact I saw it all as rather ‘romantic’ and was swept away by an illusion that this was all very ‘exciting’. Such character, my crazed non reality accepting mind whispered to me.

The days progressed, and the volume of shawls I bought suddenly increased triple fold. My goodness, how many burns could one carpet have possibly sustained?! The dark green carpet (I know…) looked like it was the victim of a thousand mini-forest fires. Every burn was ‘hidden’ by a shawl. If I couldn’t see them, they weren’t there. Soon, it appeared as if I were the mistress of shawls. But I was more than a mistress. I was shawl woman.

A thought approached my mind, perhaps the decision to move here had been hastily done. Just as that thought arrived, it was savagely slashed away. Regrets are the whispers of the DEVIL, I softly chanted. Yes. And DEMONS. Alas, my denial was to such extends that this reasonable thought was as unwelcome as a gang of oiled and tattooed convicts gate crashing a baby shower.

But it’s only so long one can lie so effectively to oneself.The wool over my eyes was removed and I realised that I indeed was paying for the honor for living in a state of despair.

GOD! Why did I live so far away. So far from existence. It’s one thing when one lives in the suburbs as opposed to a thriving downtown, but what one earth is living in neither?! I felt so far from civilization….so primitive. Any second I felt National Geographic would arrive at my address and start photographing the ‘natives’…the natives being my good self and the moths.

It was useless. What was I doing here? Clearly I could not support this obsession any further.

Following this, I decided there was no point complaining. It was what it was. Best to just…accept and adapt. Since clearly I could not change the apartment, I had to change myself. I had to cultivate a character that would support living in shambles. Perhaps I could become an artist. Communist? Anything! Live ironically? Was it too late to become a philosopher?

So I started burning incense. Lots of incense. In silent hope the ‘aroma’ would distract me from the war ravaged appearance of my abode. I entertained trying to take up smoking. Maybe a smokey air about the apartment would lessen the sharp edges of the disaster I called home…

Alas, it was useless. All useless. But still the incense burnt, the shawls continued to grow and soon I realised that where I to suddenly ‘expire’, the police would have a mission trying to retrieve my corpse beneath all the shawls.

This all continued for another 2 months before I gave up the pretense! I gave some crazy sounding excuse to my landlord and fled the premises…

Sometimes I still hear them….

The end

Talking about the ‘untalkable’

I write this post solely because I wish a similar post had been written when I was suffering from depression and didn’t know where to turn. Yes, all these things can be searched online but I feel there is a difference when someone you know, even vaguely, confesses to the impact mental illness may have had on them.

I believe in this culture, it’s taboo to talk about how mental illness can affect lives. I also believe the main reason for this is a great lack of understanding, education and resources. Perhaps it’s also just seen as ‘acting’, a way to ‘get attention’. On a different note, it is almost glorified. It’s also trivialized. ‘F*ck, my shirt just got stained, I’m so depressed’. Let me tell you, kind friends, that if depression were so easily able to be passed through your lips over mundane events, you are TRULY lucky for I will tell you real depression is nothing like that.

I’m dramatic by nature, sometimes I see more than there is to a situation and blow it out of proportion. However, that’s just me. Sometimes we get twisted by our intrinsic nature but it’s what we cannot control that makes us suffer. I can understand how I may be seen to be ‘acting’ as I am after all someone who is not ‘subdued’ when it comes to emotions. This is where the problem lies. There is no one ‘look’ or personality to those who suffer from mental illnesses.

Tell someone you’re diabetic, and it’s an instant click of recognition. Need insulin you say? Great, so very good to see you are taking care of your health. Many times in the past when I would tell someone that I have bipolar disorder, first it would be the ‘look’, followed by the ‘but you look so normal!?’. Great, thanks. I’ll be sure to carry a dead rabbit in my hand the next time I see you. This isn’t even taking into consideration what people’s reactions can be when it comes to medication.

Bipolar is a brain/emotional disorder that is characterised by extreme lows (depression) and sudden highs with long stretches of feeling nothing. It’s not necessarily something that is constant in its appearance as it comes in episodes. You can be fine for a long time and suddenly, life becomes a grey canvas and you the pathetic actor of a show no one but your every insecurity attends. Suddenly EVERYTHING is a task. Do I have to get out of bed? Doesn’t that involve moving the duvet? My elbows are SO tired. However later that night, it’ll all change. ARGH I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THIS ENERGY, so I will pace around my very small living room!!! So many IDEAS. SO MUCH TO SAY. Let me wake up my sister, it’s only 4 AM. We can talk ALL NIGHT LONG! I really was a delightful room mate!

Many suffer. Mental illness can grab you in many ways, and different people react different ways. Many that suffer fear being open about it because it’s ‘shameful.’ Some don’t even know there is anything wrong and start reacting in all sorts of ‘crazy’ (pardon the pun, it was irresistible) ways. This one of the things I hope changes.

And so from my end, I will tell you that my life has been affected in every way possible by my ‘invisible’ illness. The kind that I have is characterized by episodes of horrendous depressions that just come out of no where and then there are those LONG LONG periods of feeling nothing. My friends, the ones that know what I go through, tell me ‘but you do feel, you love your family, you love your friends.’….Yes, yes I do, but the thing is I cannot FEEL it a lot of the time. I know I ‘feel’ it but I cannot ‘reach’ that feeling. It felt like all of life was separated from me by a glass wall.

Feeling nothing is like nothing I could even explain (but yet here I am attempting). You exist but nothing impacts you. You are emotionally dead yet still alive. I felt dead so often and it’s SO HARD to explain any of this to anyone because how would you understand? I don’t even understand. And then something happens and all this deadness leads to you feeling TOO MUCH and it suffocates you.

Where I to be INSANELY truthful, it would go something like this: when my episodes hit, I wasn’t even sure if I enjoyed anything. I did what I did because I thought I should, that and I was a great actress. Weirdly enough, some days I was much better. Happy. Then suddenly I’m miserable and I hate myself and I wish I’d vanish. I’m so fat, stupid and ugly. The next day, suddenly I’m great again, actually FAR MORE THAN GREAT, in fact, everything is like a huge huge sunflower of delight. Later than evening, I’m freaking out. At 3 am, I’m hysterical because I don’t know how to survive living. I am everywhere. I am this, but I am that and this and that.

Truth be told, were it not for my faith , I would have probably ended my life years ago. It was like a civil war in your head, it doesn’t matter what side wins as we all lose.

And you probably wouldn’t have seen any of this. I would appear normal but nothing was normal about the way I existed. I’m lucky because I actually sought help. This helped a lot but you really have to do your own research. Had I followed the advise of every psychiatrist I had seen through the years, I believe I could have single-handedly supported the entire pharmaceutical industry. However, I still tried and tried and tried until I got to a more comfortable medium. That and humour was always my coping mechanism. I know that in the depths of great depression, the last thing you can envision is seeing the light in all this but believe me, it is possible. I didn’t think it was and yet now I can see.

I cannot stress how important it is to try and get help if you feel something is not right. Mental illness can ruin everything.  Also it can make life VERY HARD for those that love you. It’s so important that you are kind to yourself, that you try and seek a trusted person to speak to and that you forgive yourself and try and love yourself regardless of how unlovable you feel.

And if you happen to have someone in your life who suffers, it’s important to just be there.  You may not understand, but just be there and try and learn as much as you can. Isolation makes everything worse

I recognise now more than ever my problem. However I cannot guarantee that I’m ‘cured’. It’s an on going process. This invisible debilitating condition has ruined so much for me, but such is life. But just as it’s taken, it’s also given so much to my life and I do believe added positively to my life once I got a better grip and understanding of it. It’s definitely make me understand people better.

I’ve learnt to accept this and not be ashamed of it.There are many many things I have not said in this, dare I say ‘modest’ post. It’s hard to sum up what I’ve been through. The same can be said of all mental illnesses. As I’ve said many times within this post that was supposed to be short, in our society, we don’t talk about it. In fact, I don’t think we even take it seriously. I suffered from it for so long and even I couldn’t take it or accept it.I thought that I was pretending. Truth is, this is my truth and many of the people who suffer from similar afflictions.

It’s easy to classify diseases we see, but there are some we don’t. That doesn’t make them any less important nor do you have a reason to be ashamed.

I guess if there is anything to take from this post is, don’t suffer alone. No one has to live like that. There is hope and things can change. I was silent for so long because I was scared and ashamed but now I realise there is no reason for that. This is part of me, and no part of anyone should be considered a ‘stigma’ or ‘taboo’. Unless it involves an addiction to very bad perms, in which case, you should be very ashamed!